


if you keep me next to you

by MissSugarPlum



Series: you're just a line in a song [9]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (with a tiny bit of angst thrown in for good measure), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Not beta-read, Tumblr Prompt, there's another awful pun in this one beware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSugarPlum/pseuds/MissSugarPlum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Len has always hated his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you keep me next to you

**Author's Note:**

> For [capsicleinspace](capsicleinspace.tumblr.com), who prompted: _you should write some kind of fluff that involves Barry bringing Leonard something SUPER campy (romantic-wise) and he thinks that Len'll hate it but he actually loves it ;)_
> 
> (I didn't make it as fluffy or cracky as I expected to, but I think she liked it anyway <3)
> 
> This was the second prompt I ever received (and the second-longest thing I had ever written in this fandom), and this is probably my _favorite_ thing I've written to date.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Title from Taylor Swift's 22, just because)

Len has always hated his birthday.

 

Barry knows this about him, and respects his wishes for nothing grand, most of the time, because there is little that Len will put his foot down about, in this impossible, impossibly incredible relationship of theirs, but birthdays—really, anything _too_ personal in nature, but especially birthdays—are strictly off-limits.

 

(Of course, that didn’t stop Barry from enlisting Lisa’s help in kidnapping Len and whisking him away to St. Louis for an exhilarating all-day adventure at Six Flags, three days after Len turned thirty-eight, but that was just coincidence. Really.)

 

(Len put up an annoyed front for the first forty-five minutes as they waited in line for Boomerang, but after that, he couldn’t stop grinning the rest of the day. He will even—grudgingly, and under much duress—admit that the day wasn’t a colossal failure.)

 

(It never fails to make Barry smile, even if he knows he’ll never be able to get away with something like this again.)

 

The morning of Len’s thirty-ninth birthday arrives with little to no fanfare. Len wakes to an empty bed, the spot next to him cooling in the absence of the warm body that was supposed to be there. Frowning to himself and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Len reluctantly escapes the confines of the fluffy down comforter. He yawns, stretches languidly, groans when his spine pops, and his frown deepens when he realizes Barry is nowhere to be found, that he can’t hear any sign of Barry moving around the house at all.

 

Well.

 

He didn’t want to celebrate his birthday. He supposes he got his wish.

 

Len doesn’t bother with clothing himself beyond the boxers he had worn to bed—there’s apparently no one to cover up for, anyway, and he tries to tell himself he’s not bitter about that fact. He snatches his phone from the bedside table, shivering at the cold press of the hardwood floor against his bare feet, and he can feel the furrow between his brows deepen as he sees he has a slew of messages, waiting patiently to be read.

 

_good morning, darling!_

 

_sorry i wasn’t there when you woke up_

 

_dashed out real quick to get those strawberries i know you like from the farmer’s market_

 

_i’m making you pancakes for breakfast_

 

_shut up and deal with it, i’m doing it_

 

_i love you! be back soon xoxo_

 

The bitter tendrils of resentment curling in his chest dissipate almost as easily as if Barry had blown them away with a single breath, and Len can’t help the upward tilt of his lips, fond affection filling him in its wake. He makes his way out of the bedroom, eager for the promise of Barry’s amazing, made-from-scratch, strawberry-and-cream-cheese-stuffed, orgasm-inducing pancakes, and the sound of keys jangling in the front door greets Len as soon as he makes his way to the kitchen.

 

“Oh, you’re awake!” Barry shoves the door closed behind him, not even bothering to lock it as he sets down his bags ( _plural?_ Len wonders briefly) and proceeds to fling himself forward.

 

Len catches him with an arm around his waist, too used to this behavior to be truly surprised by it anymore (though it took an embarrassingly long time for him to get used to the fact that someone, that _Barry_ , was always so exuberantly _happy_ to see him). Barry drapes his own arms around Len’s shoulders, exhales a faint but happy sigh against the skin of Len’s neck, the gust of air making him shiver for reasons unrelated to the cold.

 

Almost as if he can hear his thoughts, Barry’s fingers scratch lightly against the nape of Len’s neck, and he presses a soft kiss right below his ear. “Happy birthday,” he murmurs lowly, and Len can’t find it in himself to be churlish, not right now.

 

“If it gets me those pancakes, I’ll celebrate whenever you want,” Len says in return, and Barry laughs at the blatant lie in his voice—in any case, he knows Barry is always happy to make them, show off his own (limited) cooking skills every so often. “What’s in the bags?”

 

“Strawberries.” Len can hear the unspoken ‘duh’ and snorts in response. “Cream cheese. You know, stuff for pancakes. And…” Barry hesitates, something he rarely does anymore, ever since they got comfortable, sharing themselves with each other and slotting their lives together. “Promise you won’t be mad.”

 

“Are you making whipped cream for the pancakes?” Len counters.

 

Affront colors Barry’s voice now. “Of course I am.”

 

“Then I won’t be mad.”

 

“Igotyouabirthdaycard.” The words spill out of him, rushed and jumbled together, and Len mentally slows them down as his hand unconsciously drags across the set of Barry’s shoulders, attempting to soothe the tension there.

 

“You… got me a birthday card,” he repeats blankly, and Barry half-winces, cringing away from Len and reaching for one of the bags he had deposited by the front door. He peels the plastic bag away from what turns out to be a monstrosity of a _thing_ , and Barry holds it behind his back with a slightly sheepish smile, eyes tight.

 

“It was on display in the window of the pharmacy right across from the market,” he explains at the incredulous quirk of Len’s eyebrows. “And, well… I had to get it for you.” He brings it out from behind him and shoves it into Len’s hands without further ado, ducking his head as he grabs the other grocery bags and heads for the kitchen. “I’ll be in here—just wait until breakfast is done before you start yelling, okay?”

 

He disappears into the other room before Len has a chance to do more than process his words. He blinks after him for a moment, eyebrows drawn together, then turns his gaze down at the card in his grasp.

 

…If he can even call it a card.

 

The thing is three times the size of what he would call a normal-looking birthday card, huge and heavy and altogether ludicrous. It’s bright neon blue in color, making Len squint against the hue before his eyes start to focus on the words printed there.

 

Right in the middle of the card is a picture of a garishly orange block of cheese, candle poking out of the top, with block letters around it, exclaiming **I GOT YOU THIS CHEESY BIRTHDAY CARD!**

 

Len snorts out a laugh before he can stop himself—it’s so stupid, such a ridiculously simple joke, but he’s having trouble getting the silly little smile off his face. He opens the card awkwardly, expecting a relating joke on the inside, but all that’s there is a generic **HAPPY BIRTHDAY** and a few lines of Barry’s neat but sprawling penmanship underneath.

 

_The terrible pun reminded me of you, and how much I love you and your awful sense of humor. I hope it makes you smile._

 

_I know you don’t like your birthday, and I can accept that._

 

_But I will always celebrate the day you were brought into the world, because without you, mine would be a lot less worthwhile._

 

_I love you so much, Len. Happy birthday._

 

Barry’s getting ready to pour the batter onto the griddle when Len finally makes his way into the kitchen, and he startles with a slight exclamation when Len’s arms wrap firmly around him from behind.

 

“I love you,” he tells the graciously lean back of Barry’s neck, pressing his nose in softly and nuzzling at the short hairs there. Barry leans into him, arm coming up to bracket Len’s against himself, pancakes forgotten for the moment.

 

“You know I love you,” he echoes back gently, tenderly, and Len can hear the delicate curve of Barry’s smile in his voice.

 

“And I love the card,” he continues, one side of his mouth kicking up in an answering smile.

 

Barry doesn’t say anything else, just squeezes Len’s arms around him before moving forward to continue with breakfast, humming a contented tune.

 

He still doesn’t say anything when they bring their plates, loaded up with pancakes and whipped cream and freshly sliced strawberries, out to the table and he catches sight of the giant card resting proudly on the mantel above the fireplace for anyone to see. He just smiles at Len, love and affection and understanding overflowing in his gaze and warming Len to the very core of his being.

 

And he doesn’t say anything when, a year later, another card joins that one (normal-sized, this time), and another the year after that, and yet another the year after that, all with horrendous jokes and atrocious puns on the outside and declarations of Barry’s utter devotion on the inside.

 

It’s not much, but it’s Barry’s way of celebrating, and Len will cherish every moment of his life that Barry is his to celebrate with.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [original](http://that-pumpkinspicewhitegirl.tumblr.com/post/134051730593/you-should-write-some-kind-of-fluff-that-involves) (come say hi!)


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